


Writing Prompt Drabbles

by Noppoh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble Collection, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noppoh/pseuds/Noppoh
Summary: A collection of drabbles/one-shots based on random prompts from the writing-prompt-s Tumblr feed. They are also posted on my own Tumblr (Noppoh).





	1. Conversation with Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:   
> You’re an ancient immortal, but that’s only because Death is too scared of you to come claim your soul.

“So, you’ve come to try again, have you?”

“Y- yes,”

I turn to look at the shivering form standing at a safe distance to my right. “Are you sure?”

The figure seems to grow a bit taller, the equivalent of a human rightening his back and pulling back his shoulders. Yet, the figure doesn’t move, nor does it answer. I laugh at its obvious cowardice. It flinches and takes a step back.

“Such bravery,” I purr maliciously. “It’s been, what? A century since I’ve seen you? Come on now, you’ve found the courage to come see me, you could at least give it a shot.”

But I know full well Death wouldn’t try. Death, the elusive figure that appears different to everybody it meets, although the Grimm Reaper seems to become more popular lately.

I’ve never given Death an image to which it can mould itself, neither have I ever been scared of dying. The first time It came for me, it freaked out, not knowing how to present itself. It allows me to see Death for what it really is, both everything and nothing. A slightly disconcerting image, but one gets used to it.

Seeing it in its entirety allowed me to also see its weaknesses. Yes, Death has weaknesses. The first time it came for me, I sidestepped it and kicked it straight back to the seven hells it came from. Its surprised flickering was more than little amusing.

I turn my back to it and start walking. There are no sounds behind me, but I can feel Death following me.

“You know you can’t keep following me forever, you’ve got a job to do,” I say.

I suddenly turn and l lunge at it. The panicked fluttering as it rushes away from me makes me laugh outrageously. A couple of centuries ago, I discovered the secret to killing Death, and it knows it. Not that I would ever actually kill it. The world would quickly become too crowded for my taste.

“Didn’t I tell you I would come to you once I’m tired of living?” I sigh, bored of Death’s antics. “Now, off with you. I have a company to run and a board meeting to go to, and neither will go well when everybody starts shivering from your presence. Shoo, get lost.”

I sigh as Death slinks back into the shadows and disappears. It likes to show itself every now and then, when it plucks up enough courage, or perhaps simply as a reminder of its existence. I don’t know its reason. I do know that Death is way too scared of me to try doing something foolish, such as try and take my soul.

Looking around, I see humans scurry to and fro. I no longer consider myself one of them, for that, I have lived too long, seen too much. One day I’ll greet Death as a friend, and let it take me. One unimaginable day. Perhaps, when I’m the last person alive, who knows?


	2. Zarak, the Great Necromancer Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> An out of touch demon raises the dead to take over Earth. He doesn’t realise that most corpses are 6ft underground, in concrete crypts or were burnt to dust.

“Finally! Finally!” The demon cried out as the seal on his body broke. “That b*tch of a sorceress! Daring to seal me away!” 

Carefully, he flexed his fingers and moved his head. He could feel his powers once more starting to run through his body. It wasn’t long before he could shake off the dirt and grime that had settled upon him.

Looking around the forest, he decided to head north. The trees ended sooner than he had expected, but then again, his mind was still a bit foggy; he needed nourishment and he needed it soon. 

Continuing on, he noticed a small village in the distance. The buildings seemed strange to him, however, he paid it no mind. Those lowly humans were nothing but food or tools for him. He, the Great Necromancer, Zarak, was well above the dealings of humanity.

Letting out a gleeful cry, he attacked, gorging on humans to quell his hunger. When he was finally full, and his power was completely restored, he started plotting his evil plan. 

* * *

Lounging in one of the fields near the village, Zarak waited. He’d cast a resurrection spell, stretching outwards for miles. Soon, he would have an army of the dead to wreak havoc upon the world.

It took the dead a long time to find him, but he didn’t worry. They were compelled to come, so come they would. It wasn’t like they had any choice. When, finally, a figure appeared on the horizon, he smirked.

It was walking in a strange way, almost pounding its feet. Zarak could see that the once dead man, now not so dead, was covered in dirt, his hands balled into a fist at his side. If the demon expected it to bow down low upon arrival, he was sorely mistaken.

“Are you the one responsible for this?” the undead man asked furiously, finger pointing at the surprised demon.

“What is this, you undead human? You should bow to me, for I am the one who has resurrected you. You should be grateful for my power!”

“Grateful? Grateful?” the man shouted. “I had to dig my way up through 6ft of dirt! Do you know how difficult it is to travel unnoticed these days? I was almost hit by a car! Twice! And you expect me to be grateful? I was happy to be dead!”

Zarak was staring at his minion, shocked by its disrespectful behaviour. He was about to speak up when another undead arrived.

“I would appreciate it if you would first dig me up the next time you necromance me back to life,” the second one said, before turning his back on Zarak and striking up a conversation with the first undead.

“Is it him?” a third arrival demanded. It didn’t even acknowledge the demon’s presence.

“It is,” number one and two answered in unison.

Number three turned towards the necromancer demon. “What do you think you are doing? I lost three fingers, trying to get out of my grave! Three fingers!”

It held up both hands, showing a missing thumb and index finger on the left one, and a missing little finger on the right. It, too, turned its back on the demon, ignoring it.

Zarak was confused. More and more of the undead started arriving, and none paid him the respect he was due. He wasn’t sure how to deal with this. 

“Gods, what happened to you?” one of the undead asked a new arrival. “You look, I don’t know, beaten up?”

“Because I was,” the new one grumbled. 

“How?”

“I was buried in a tomb.”

A chorus of groans was heard, along with ‘I can feel you man’ and ‘though luck’.

“Yeah,” the newbie continued, “it took me a while to get out. Once I did, some humans were waiting at the entrance, spooked by all the noise I was making. Obviously, they tried to return me to the dead.”

He was patted on the shoulder and welcomed into the group, not even noticing that there was a demon sitting not far away from him.

By this time, Zarak was getting thoroughly annoyed. These humans meant nothing to him, the undead ones even less. He would beat them into submission. Another disturbance, however, caught his attention.

“What’s that?” the crowd of undead was muttering.

Looking into the distance, he could see a strange type of cloud drifting his way. It stopped in front of the assembled undead men. 

“Tell me who is responsible for this! I will float into his lungs and suffocate the bastard!” The voice that came out of the cloud was rough, as if coming from a parched man.

“Oh, man,” one of the undead said. “Don’t tell me you were cremated?”

Another one turned to Zarak. “You even raised the cremated ones? You are such an ass!”

“Cremated?” Zarak asked. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Yes, you idiot. Burned after dead, ring a bell?”

The cloud of ashes started moving towards the demon, but stopped and groaned. “Not again.”

A wind swept in, dispersing the cloud to the surrounding area. The other undead uttered words of compassion and watched as the ashes slowly gravitated back to each other. Once more coalesced, there appeared to be two clouds instead of one.

“I will help you suffocate the bastard,” one of the two clouds said. They were indistinguishable.

“Good,” the other one answered.

“Who is the bastard that interrupted my beauty sleep?” a definitely feminine voice suddenly shouted.

Zarak’s eyes widened. He must have done something wrong. That would explain the strange behaviour of his minions and the sudden appearance of a woman. His spell was meant to only resurrect those born male, what was a woman doing here?

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Zarak, even as a necromancer, had a healthy respect for Hell. The male undead cautiously stepped back, forming a path through their middle and pointing at him. When she turned towards the demon, her eyes flashed dangerously before narrowing.

“You!”

Panicking, Zarak released the resurrection spell. His heart was pounding hard in his chest. Only when the undead all dropped down, dead once more, did his panic subside.

He stared at the corpses and ashes littered in front of him. After a while, he shook his head, turned, and walked away. For the foreseeable future, he would stick to terrorising villages and killing humans. The necromancing could wait for a century or two.

 


	3. Suicidal Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> You are a fish. A beautiful fish.

I am. I really am. Except... I hate the water. It’s all ... wet. I don’t like it wet. Why can’t it be dry? Like the air? 

Everybody keeps telling me I’m such a beautiful fish. I should be happy about the way the underwater sun glitters off my scales, about how the water flows and twirls around my tail. The male fish keep telling me that the way my fins move makes their hearts flutter. My gills are the summum of beauty. 

I am desired by all, but I desire none of them. I desire the dry air. I desire the warmth of the sun. I desire an end to this incessant wetness. I’ve had enough!

With determination, I follow the boats, skip and jump in front of them. The strange creatures on them laught at me. I never could figure out whether they tink me funny or silly. I don’t care. I know their path, as I have followed them often, and now, I will follow them one last time.

Some of my suitors play along, jumping in and out of the water to show me their grace. I ignore them. It’s not like it still matters. As the boat slows down, and land comes into view, I veer off. They call me, follow me, want to know what’s up. 

Once they realise, their calls turn into warnings, into disbelieving screeches. They try to stop me. I pay them no heed. Determined, I ride the waves, one last time. Finally I will be rid of it all. Finally, I will escape the confinement that is the watery ocean. Finally, I will be free. 

A call of triump escapes me as my belly hits the sand. This is as far as I can go. Here I will rest. Here, I will stay dry until my skin is leather and my eyes have gone dull. I am free, and I’m paying the highest price for it.


	4. Is this a game?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> One normal day you see a mouse pointer move across your field of vision, right click, and delete an object.

I look down at my dinner. Surely, I must have accidentally eaten a mushroom that causes hallucinations? I aimlessly move my pasta with mushrooms around my plate. 

No, I decide, no, it did not happen. A mouse pointer did not just delete my coffee machine. My very beloved, absolutely necessary in the morning, coffee machine. Nope. I’ve been spending too much time behind my computer and my mind is playing tricks on me. 

I stare at my next scoop of pasta and shrug. I’m already hallucinating, one more wrong mushroom won’t make a difference. For once I managed to make a dinner that actually tastes like something, I’m not about to waste it.

The coffee machine must have broken down, I try to convince myself. It broke down and I threw it away. I merely forgot about it. A snort escapes me as I can hardly believe my own words, yet, I know, if I repeat them often enough, they’ll become my reality. 

“My coffee machine broke down and I threw it away.”

“My coffee machine broke down and I threw it away.”

“My coffee machine broke down and I threw it away.”

There, that should do it. Simple. Easy. Totally believable. With a sigh, I continue eating. Perhaps I should ask the man at the market which mushroom could be the cause of this.

xXxXxXx

Grumbling, I stop at the gas station to buy myself some low-quality, bad tasting coffee. Why, oh why did my coffee machine break down? This brew is an insult to the beverage.

After I get back into the car, I quickly get stuck in traffic. Frowning, I wonder what happened. At this early hour, there’s hardly any traffic at all. To get stuck like this is an abnormal occurance, to say the least.

Turning on the radio I wait for the traffic news to come on. I don’t have to wait long before a special announcement is made. A truck slipping and ending up across the road, blocking all three lanes and causing multiple cars to crash into it. 

I blink after I do a quick bit of math and then thank whatever deity that exists. Had I not stopped for that sewer water that’s sold under the name coffee, I could have very well been involved in that crash. 

Oh well, I escaped it, that’s most important. Better call work to let them know I’ll be horribly late.

xXxXxXx

I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and blow air through my nose. What time is it? One in the afternoon, sleep deprivation is not a good excuse. I didn’t take any medication either. Stress perhaps?

Warily, I glance up, only to see the mouse pointer doubting between a flower pot and a chair. Really, what have those two even in common? 

“Oh, decide already!” I blurt out.

The pointer seems to give a little jerk, before finally deleting the chair. My colleagues are looking at me strangely. I shrug. “Indecisive clients” They all nod with comprehension. 

Shaking my head, I continue my work and try to forget about the incident. It’s not like I know what to think of it. I don’t want to get stuck in existential theories. I don’t want to think or wonder about whether or not our lives are nothing but a game. It’s pointless and would only serve to drive me mad. 

I try to ignore the idea that I might have gone mad already.

Not long after, the department chief calls for a general meeting. Everybody gathers around to where he’s standing. As is our habit we take along our desk chairs or grab the nearest chair and form an informal group.

As the chief is talking about numbers and goals, I see The New Guy next to me, who is on of the few who are standing, shift about. A few minutes later, he makes an uncomfortable face and shifts again.

“Everything okay?” I whisper to him.

Surprised, he looks down. “Yes, of course.”

Another shift.

“Where are you hurting?” I ask.

“My ankle is sprained,” he automatically answers. Blinking, he seems to realise his own words. “But I’m fine, really,” he adds.

I stand up and offer him my chair. “No need to be standing on a sprained ankle. Take my chair.”

“No, no, really,” he answers with typical male bravado. “All good.”

“SIT!”

He draws back with a surprised look, before smiling sheepishly and sitting down. “Thanks.”

xXxXxXx

Third time is a charm, I guess? Because really, was that pointer never going to stay away? And was it really necessary to delete the last chicken salad the coffee shop had to offer?

“Thanks a lot!” I grumble.

“Who are you thanking?”

I jump at the unexpected voice and see Mr New Guy standing behind me. “Uhm-” I stumble, “no-one in particular. And it was more of a sarcastic comment, to be honest, I was really looking forward to a chicken salad, but they seem to be out.”

I feel like a complete and utter fool. Who whines about a salad?

“The chicken salads are out? Well, that’s too bad. They really are good here.”

Staring at him, I try to figure out if he’s leading me on or if he really means what he is saying. I decide on the latter, because for a moment, he actually pouts. It makes him look kind of cute.

For a moment, I take my time to really look at him. Just a bit taller than me, brown eyes, dark hair, lean shape. All in all, not such a bad looking guy.

“Do you know any other places with good salads around here? I’m not in the mood for a sandwich,” he asks.

I tilt my head in thought. “I know a couple other coffee shops, but none have salads. There is this bistro just down the road though, their food is pretty decent.”

“Cool,” he answers, a smile lighting up his face. “I guess I’ll be going there. Want to join me?”

xXxXxXx

By now, I’ve grown used to the damned pointer. I even give it a little wave when nobody can see me. Sometimes it moves up and down a bit; I like to consider that a wave back.

Nobody else seems to see it, or notice that things suddenly go missing. I don’t know why or how it’s possible for me to be aware of its presence. Perhaps that first faulty mushroom caused a permanent alteration in my brain?

Sometimes I see the pointer once or twice a day, sometimes I don’t see it for well over a month. I am starting to believe it’s a magnanimous pointer, though. If I look back, the disappearances of objects seem to coincide with times that I’ve been lucky in life. That which others call coincidence, I now attribute to the pointer.

I still refuse to think about its origin, believing it would drive me mad. There’s probably some sort of an explanation for it, no doubt, but I prefer to just accept it as is and continue on. What’s the point in proving the existence and origin of a pointer nobody else can see anyway?

A small smile graces my lips as I watch it float around in my view. As it sometimes does, it seems to hesitate. I no longer urge it to make a quick decision, but simply wait for it to decide. 

To my surprise, it seems to become erratic; coursing left and right over the clothing racks at such a speed I can barely follow it. Eventually, it stops and trembles in place. Somehow, I get the impression it lets out a sigh.

Finally, it hovers above a dress, and with the dip I’ve come to know so well, it selects it. But, instead of disappearing, like I’m so used to, the dress starts glowing at the edges.

I walk over to it and pull it out of the rack. “Okay,” I murmur, low enough so nobody can hear me, “okay. If you say so, I trust you.”

I shake my head slightly. How many people can claim their wedding dress was selected by a mouse pointer?


	5. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> Everyone is born with 3 dates on their wrist. One represents when you will accomplish your life’s goal, one is when you will meet your soulmate, and one is when you will die right down to the second. Yours are all the same day within a minute of each other.

Chaos, chaos everywhere. Gunshots were rapidly following each other, shouts and screams filling the air. How a walk trough the city center could have turned into such a hell, you cannot comprehend. 

Running, you try to get away. Freedom of the chaos seems in sight, until yet another armed man appears in front of you. With a speed you did not know you possessed, you jump out of the way and dive to the ground. 

Crawling, you make it around a corner. You bump into something and a grunt tells you that something is human. Turning around, you see a man, about your age, lying in a small puddle of blood. He’s holding his side, more blood seeping between his fingers.

“Oh my god! You’re shot!” You move to sit next to him, your hand covering his and putting pressure on the wound. “I need to stop this bleeding!”

To your surprise, the man smiles at you, despite his pain. The strangest feeling washes over you. Shaking your head to dispel it, you start pulling off your sweater.

With desperate movements, you start tearing at it, pushing the pieces of fabric in the man’s wound. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing. I hope this helps. I’m sorry.”

The man weakly shakes his head. “Is okay.” 

His words are barely audible but you hear them all the same. Again, you are accosted with that strange feeling. Before you can contemplate it further, mad sounding laughter fills the street. Looking over your shoulder, you see a gun pointed towards you.

“No! Please don’t!”

A gunshot is the last thing you hear.

* * *

 

You will never forget the woman who found you in the alleyway during the terrorist attack. That beautiful woman who’s time and date for meeting a soulmate was the same as yours. That magnificent woman who, by stuffing her sweater in your wound, managed to save your life. That incredible woman who died on your chest a minute later.

Up until this day, you don’t know why the terrorist let you live. Perhaps he thought you would bleed out anyway. Perhaps he thought you were already dead. Perhaps he did not even notice you. It doesn’t matter, you still feel guilty, no matter how many therapists tell you you shouldn’t.

During the long days and weeks of recovery, you decided to dedicate your life to this woman. You dedicate your life to her, honouring the sacrifice she made for you. In some twisted way, she gave her life for you.

It is her, this woman who you later learned was called Laura, that you mention during your speech. You let the world learn it was and always has been her who inspired you. Hopefully, this way, her name will be remembered next to yours.

With a respectful nod at the host, you accept the Nobel Price for Peace, that beautiful, terrified face of your soulmate swimming before your eyes.

 


End file.
